The Life and Times of a Dreamer
by derpette-Waffle
Summary: 1937- Blaine Anderson is a lonely music producer on his way to Hollywood, but the train breaks down in Middle of Nowhere, Iowa. He stays in a nearby town centered around a burlesque house, where he finds the most beautiful talent he'd ever met. - R&R!
1. Welcome to the Sun Spot Cabaret

"Don't any of you ever want to get out of this place?"

Kurt was wiping the glitter from his eyelids to apply a new coat. Mercedes was on her break, and as always, spent it backstage with the performers. Tina had just arrived with Daniel, setting the infant boy's seat down against the one wall not cluttered with costumes and props, changing into her uniform for the upcoming shift. Rachel was sitting next to Kurt, staring into the dusty mirror and smoothing out invisible wrinkles in her skirt. All were half-heartedly listening to Lucy go off again about how she wanted more out of life then burlesque.

Lucy scoffed at their inattention and turned back to her own mirror, a tiny slab of reflective glass propped up against the wall. Kurt, who'd been paying a little more courtesy to her usual rant than the others, decided to patronize her with conversation. "Out of here?" He almost laughed, but judged against it, knowing it would only send Lucy into an endless rant until show time.

"Yes, out of this hovel," she repeated, straightening a damp red curl between her fingertips. Nobody in all of Iowa had redder hair than Lucy Quinn, and while most admired it, she couldn't tolerate herself in the mirror. This young woman was never satisfied with herself, so long as she was staring into a ratty mirror backstage at the Sun Spot Cabaret. "I dreamt it again last night, and I swear on my daddy's money that I will make it out to Hollywood and make myself a star if I have to shove my beauty down all their throats."

Those were the two things Lucy had going for her: her daddy's oil fortune, and her gorgeous face, sans the hair. And none of the others working at Sun Spot ever heard the end of either.

"If you want to head out there, you'd better be carrying a sack on your shoulder," Tina joked, retrieving a bowl of creamed corn from on top of the stove. She returned to her son and started to feed him.

Mercedes nodded, agreeing. "Everyone knows that regular people actually making a career for themselves out in California is only a myth," she added, a bit more seriously, toying absently with a button on her blouse. Even the attire set for the waitresses was nothing if not tight and slightly revealing.

Lucy lowered her eyebrows to the point where they were almost hovering just above her thick long lashes. "I wouldn't expect you to know anything about it," she scoffed, turning her nose up in contempt. "I'll show you all how big a star I'll be."

"Yeah, Lucy, we've heard it all before," Rachel mumbled, arms crossed against her demure chest. "You'll be off in LA with your name up in lights, and we'll be here still, wondering where our lives went wrong.

It was almost scary how Rachel had Lucy's exact words memorized like that, but not really surprising considering how much they all had to hear it.

"Well, it's true..." Lucy retorted, a bit uneasy at her owns words being repeated. She'd never meant to sound so harsh.

Jimmy stuck his smirky little face through the curtain. Tina, startled and still changing, quickly covered herself up and threw a boot at him. It hit his cheekbone and he winced. The performers laughed at the stagehand's expense. Jimmy just shook it off and turned his attention to Kurt. "Your fans await you, sweetheart."

Kurt's performances were done for the night, but he still had to go out on the floor and strut about for the perverts so that they'd definitely come back to see him. Kurt was called the "rare gem of the show," a special treat for the men in the audience who would just love seeing a small-framed teenage boy dress like a qhore and walk around for the pervs to make his ass feel like a pin cushion. Some would even let their grubby little hands linger for a quick, often painful grope to one of the lace-clad cheeks. Cat calls and horny yowls echoed through the noisy room whenever Kurt was out.

Half an hour later, Kurt half-limped over to the bar, where Tina's husband Mike was wiping down the counter and new employee Sam Evans was drying a mug with an old rag. "You okay, Angelface?"

Ah, the dreaded stage name. Only about half the people working here knew Kurt's actual name. Kurt decided to increase that ratio in his favor. "It's Kurt, you know..." He replies absentmindedly.

"Oh." Sam looked a bit dumfounded, his thick lips pressed into a thoughtful line. "Sorry about that." The apology sounded earnest enough. "You okay, Kurt?" he corrected.

Kurt laid his arms on the counter and rested his chin in his hands, pondering the real answer to the question. Not only did he highly detest having his ass abused like that, but the hated the place in general. But it could always be worse, couldn't it? Maybe? "Yeah, I'm alright, I guess…" he murmured. "Get me a shot?"

Sam nodded and grabbed a bottle from the back counter, filling a small glass with the brown liquid and handing it off to the teen. Kurt nodded a thanks and took a sip. Maybe if he got as drunk as all these dirty men he'd appreciate their unwanted advances a minute bit more.

"Hey, sweet cheeks," a familiar voice slurred. Kurt cringed, scrunching up his nose at the heavy odor of whiskey on the man's breath. Most of the men at the club were regulars, coming in several nights a week just to see the little show, of music and of skin. Kurt was therefor forced to encounter them frequently. A strong arm draped itself across Kurt's shoulder, but Kurt shoved it off.

"What do you want, Puckerman?" he damanded, voice coming down to a high-pitched hiss. Noah Puckerman was the deputy sheriff of Nellville, and would frequent the Sun Spot at leats three nights a week. Ironically, it was easier for the crowd to get out of hand when the deputy was actually among them. Everyone knew that he wouldn't arrest them if he was drinking and having fun with the rest of them. Was it wrong that the performers were more at risk of harrassment or more from the patrons when the chief of police was in the same room?  
>"You look gorgeous tonight. I really enjoyed the show," Noah grinned, warpping his arms around the small waist and caressing the smooth procelain skin just under the hem of a peach-colored tunic, which only came down to just above Kurt's naval. "Maybe wanna join me in my office tomorrow for a little personal performance-?"<p>

Kurt pushed the bigger man off. "As if I'd do such for the likes of you." He pulled away completely and stormed back off across the floor, heading for the small quarters behind the stage. He felt the sharp sting of a swift slap to his ass as he marched past Artie Abrams, another regular.

He heard the clack of heels making their way across the floor. He turned and saw Tina marching with determination over to Artie's table. She held a tray of six glasses of different alcohols, balanced skillfully on one hand. As she walked past Artie, she tilted just slightly to the side, enough for one glass to tip and spill all over the pervert's head. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" he apologized dramatically. As he took a rag to his hair to half-heartedly clean him up, she turned to Kurt and winked. Kurt smiled and nodded, continuing backstage.

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><p><strong>AN: I read an reply to all reviews in the next chapter (which I'm working on now! :D) R&R 3**


	2. Mr Blaine Anderson

Blaine hummed a horrible tune as his eyes skimmed over the sheet music spread out on the table. It was truly awful. How did any of these composers think they had any legitimate talent?

Blaine shook his head. He was being so harsh, just because he was frustrated with his own situation. Blaine had never wanted to leave Charleston in the first place: he'd rather stay where he could visit his mother and sister on a regular basis, not restart his career three thousand miles away. But that was showbusiness for you.

A skinny boy slid up to his seat, a staff hat perched precariously on his matted hair. "Anything I can get you, Mr. Anderson, sir?" he mumbled. Blaine sat back in his seat and examined the boy from head to toe, sizing him up. He couldn't be any more than seventeen, and unless his whole family worked on this train, he must've missed them dearly. The boy was rather timid in Blaine's presence: Blaine was quite a local celebrity in Charleston. He coughed into a hankerchief and shook his head in a negative. "No, thank you, I'm fine." The boy nodded and took off.

Blaine looked over the notes again. He tried to play the melody over in his head, but it just didn't work. He couldn't figure out how these notes would ever fit together. He sighed deeply and ran a hand through his dark curls in exasperation.

The train jerked, and Blaine looked back up in surprise. Everything seemed normal enough, it was probably just a small bump in the tracks. He resumed his work for a few minutes, but soon gave up. He just didn't know what he was doing anymore. He didn't even know why he was heading out to Hollywood in the first place. Maybe people out there actually had talent, and that would drive him in the direction of California.

The train jerked again.

Blaine turned away from his work. He just couldn't deal with all that right now. He just stared out the window, knowing it'd still be a few days until he'd reach his destination. He had all the time in the world to try to figure all this out, meanwhile he'd just enjoy the view.

There wasn't much of a view. There seemed to be no respectable population around for miles, and there was no real landscape other than small rolling hills.

Another jerk, and the locomotive came to a hault.

The passengers of the train all gathered in the car closest to the conductor, and Blaine decided to join them, wanting to know as much as any of them what was going on, why the ride had stopped, and if it'd start up again anytime soon, because people were on schedules, you know.

The conductor came out of the control booth, holding his hands in the air to request everybody stay calm. "We're having some minor engine trouble. It may be a few days until we have it repaired, though. There will be autos arriving shortly to bring you all to an inn in the nearest town."

"And where's that?" an angry passenger shouted between a thick mustache and beard.

The conductor spoke to the engineer for a moments, voices hushed. The train's passengers held their breath, everyone tryong to catch a word of what they were syaing. Blaine set his hands on his hips, huffing, a little impatient for more information about their predicament. He didn't want to go to California at all, but if he had to he'd rather get there as soon as possible. Or at least when he was scheduled to arrive.

The conductor held his hands up again to speak. "I've been told that the nearest town is Nellville, Iowa. It's a couple of miles west of here. You'll all be checking into your hotels in about an hour or two."

"Do we have to pay to stay at the hotels out of our own pockets, or will the train company be compensating us?" one man shouted, rousing a commotion from the small crowd.

The conductor was sweating quite visibly, loosening his collar at the pressure. "The train company does not make enough profit to be able to afford your lodging fees," he stammered, avoiding any and all eye contact. Blaine couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. Even though the whole thing about the company not being able to compensate their inconvenience was rubbish, this man wasn't high enough on the industry food chain to be able to promise the patrons anything like that without risking his job. Blaine didn't really mind paying for a few nights' stay at a motel. It wasn't really a big deal, he had some money to spare.

After several more minutes of verbally bashing the poor conductor, the passengers' attentions were brought to a new topic as the first auto arrived alongside the train. The driver said that more were coming, and that each vehicle could fit four each.

Twenty-four of the passengers fought for the first ride. Blaine satyed behind, sitting on the grass next to the stopped locomotive, and pulled a book out of his briefcase. Another love story, yes. Blaine was still looking for the right woman to become Mrs. Anderson. So far, no such luck whatsoever. But he didn't really mind: he was twenty-five years young and quite a catch, from what many-a woman have told him. It wasn't them, either; it was him.

For some reason he was just having trouble finding the right woman to make his own.

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry this one's kinda short. I'm still getting used to writing Blaine. Next chapter we see Kurt again so it'll be longer! :D**

**Reviews get me motivated to write!**


	3. After Hours

Two in the morning. The drunks had finally filed out of the room, but every once in a while an occasional booze-laden slob would stumble back to the front door in hopes of a more sexually enticing encore from the show's star. Sam locked the doors and windows, making sure they were firmly barricaded for the night.

For as busy as it was, the Sun Spot employed a relatively small staff. The bar was run between Sam and Mike, Mercedes and Tina were waitresses, along with a few stray characters who seemed to come and go as they wished, and all whom were gone by midnight. There was normally an unofficial half hour break before clean-up started, but tonight had been particularly rough and there was no time.

Kurt headed backstage for the last time tonight and kicked his heels off, plopping limp down into the wooden chair in front of his mirror. He always helped with the cleaning, but he needed to change into something more suitable for the tasks. His showtime attire certainly did not fit the bill.

He grabbed the soft cloth off the table in front of him and dipped it into a small bowl of water, bringing it up to dab at the glitter makeup lining his eyes.

"I'm getting out of here."

Kurt jerked into an about face to see who had said that. Lucy was standing a few feet away, leaning over an open suitcase as she stuffed it full with her outfits to be worn during tomorrow's performance. Kurt just watched her for a moment. Her words had been a little quieter than were probably meant for him to hear. She may not have been addressing him, so maybe he shouldn't react.

But by the time she'd shoved the third cocktail dress into the case, his curiosity took over. "Where are you going?" he asked vaguely, still watching as she packed but still removing his makeup, not looking in the mirror.

"I'm getting on the next train to anywhere." She didn't look at him, just stuffed another dress into the impossibly full suitcase. No way was such a slight woman going to be able to carry that out by herself.

Kurt knew he couldn't stop her. He didn't want to. He wanted to get out of this hellhole as much as, if not more than, she did, but he had more ties to this rotten burlesque house than she did.

"I know I'm not the only one who wants more in life than this," Lucy added as she snapped the case shut, pulling on the lid to make sure it was securely closed. She slipped on a pair of ratty flats and turned a har eye on the scantily ressed teenage boy.

That was where Kurt couldn't eny how uncomfortable he was. He didn't nee her to tell him where he'd gone wrong in life, but he hadn't been asked to be born into his family. Who was she to belittle his values like that, as if it were his fault. He didn't want to be up on that stage every night, showing his talent to people who were only there to stare at his ass.

He stood, sending her a quick but firm look to say 'you don't know the first thing about me,' and walked over to the other corner.

There was a small chest under the table with large casual shirts and looser shorts than were typical at the Sun Spot. Kurt retrieved a white shirt and beige pair of shorts to change into. They were still a bit small, despite Kurt's lithe frame, but not nearly as tight and revealing as his show outfit was. Kurt was rather small compared to other boys his age -it was his effeminate face and figure was the main attraction, after all- so he could fit into most of the girls' clothing. There was no change of clothes for males in that box.

Kurt perched himself up on a table, his bare feet swinging back and forth under the countertop. He glanced around the dining hall. Even past two in the morning, the Sun Spot staff was still hard at work. Mercedes and Tina were working in tandem to scrub beer-laced vomit off the floor, digging into the grooves between floorboards with the bristles of their brushes. Mike was going efficiently from table to table with a large bucket, collecting empty shot glasses, dumping any slim chance of leftover into a large mug. There was yet to be a night when the mug got to more than half full.

Rachel had gone home for the night a few hours ago. Nobody was supposed to leave any time before three –no exceptions- but Kurt wasn't about to turn her in. She'd had a really rough night. You see, the thing about Rachel Berry is that she is really talented, but in Nelson, Iowa you can't get by on that alone. Guys were always looking for the prettiest, and Rachel may have the voice of an angel, but her nose is a little too much for most men to look past. Kurt personally thought she was very pretty, but that opinion probably didn't mean much coming from a gay teenage boy. She knew she was a little too homely to be a cabaret singer, but she would sing nonetheless. But tonight she'd been heckled particularly badly. Men shouted through her whole performance about how she should "get off the stage and bring that sexy boy back on." She'd been driven from the platform halfway through her set, secretly crying.

Kurt wanted to comfort her. Really, he did. The two were close in age and on good terms with each other –Kurt would even go so far as to consider her a friend. Seeing her cry like that –all secret, silent tears she thought nobody could see- broke Kurt's heart a little bit. But once she came off, as the men had wanted, it was his turn on yet again, reluctantly going to rouse the hoard of drunken bastards that awaited him in the audience.

Kurt started looking for her as soon as he got backstage. Tina was back there, feeding little Daniel who was fussing in his seat, but Rachel was nowhere to be seen. Kurt took the risk of heading out to the bar to see if either Sam or Mike had seen her, but not before covering his half-naked body up with a ratty old coat they kept backstage just in case. Mike reported seeing her sneak out in her own worn trenchcoat. Lucy, sitting at the bar with a glass, wine slushing on the very bottom, overheard this. Lucy seemed to have some perpetual vendetta against the absent girl. She threatened to report her to the boss. "Why should she get to leave early when the rest of us slave through the night?" she whined, sipping down te last of her drink.

A warning glare from Sam shut her up. It was common knowledge that Lucy was in love with him.

Not that anybody could be blamed for taking a fancy to the broad-shouldered blonde. He was definitely a handsome young man, a breath of fresh air when the only men you see all day are intoxicated farmers. Sam knew he was likable, too, and that he'd been the young Nelson woman's fantasy and the envy of all the men ever since he moved here from Tennessee three years ago.

Kurt would be the first to bashfully admit, he'd been quite smitten by the young man himself. Kurt had only been thirteen years young when the well built blonde rode into eastern Iowa on search of work. Kurt's father, Travis Hummel, had been reluctant to hire him at first. It was obvious Kurt had taken a liking to him, and Travis didn't want anyone to distract his son from his work. But Sam had in time proven himself to be a loyal and hardworking employee.

It took Kurt a while for his feelings for the older man to wear off. He'd blush bright at mention of his name, and feel his heart thump hard in his chest at his approach. But it became increasingly obvious that Sam wasn't interested in him like that.

But it wasn't long before Sam proved to Kurt that though he wasn't interested in any type of romantic relationship - "I'm sorry, and I'm flattered, kid, but I'm straight."- he would be there for him, especially to protect the boy.  
>It was a little over two years ago that it happened. Kurt, still barely fourteen, was made to wear an even skimpier outfit than the patrons were accustomed to. Ultimately, some of them got a little handsy, but for a while Mercedes and Tina were able to keep them at bay. For a while, they just shoved their meaty little paws into their pockets and appreciated the boy with their eyes only.<p>

Then closing time rolled around. Kurt took it upon himself to lock the front doors. But some of the night's rowdiest customers had stuck around.

They pulled Kurt into the alley next to the building and ripped his oh so revealing clothes right off his body. They caressed his young body, molesting him for a few minutes, and it was obvious just how far they planned on taking this. Salty tears pricked in Kurt's eyes.

Sam smashed a whiskey bottle against the outer wall of the building, and he threatened them with the jagged glass. It may have been for fear of getting cut, or maybe the intense burning anger in Sam's eyes, but either way, they took off running.

Said protector was meanwhile approaching. He smiled with those big lips at the porcelain boy sitting in the table, wiping down a nearby spill of whiskey. "Abrams all but passed out in this," he laughed. "I was so tempted to just nudge him over, but Puckerman wouldn't let me go." He laughed again and kept wiping for a few moments, then became wary of the other boy's silence. He looked up to him, brows furrowed. " You alright?"

Footsteps could be heard. Kurt turned to see Lucy slowly stepping across the room, high and confident as if she was walking on air. Kurt's nose crinkled at her haughty aura, but he couldn't bring himself to not watch.  
>She left without a word.<p>

"I just couldn't humor her anymore," Sam commented unprovoked, not quite sounding sorry. "Too high maintenance, that one. Wants more in life than she's gonna get."

"I dunno," Kurt sighed, every now and then glancing to the door.

"She talks high, but really she doesn't have much going for her other than a pretty face," Sam shrugged, rubbing a rag through a mug.

"Yeah..." Kurt smiled sadly to himself. "But that's what it's all about, isn't it?"

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><p><strong>Reviews make me continue faster :)<strong>


	4. OneSided Conversation

The ride into Nelson was a bumpy one at best. Blaine Anderson was the very last to be driven to town. The driver hadn't returned after the second trip into town, and he begrudgingly spent the night in the stopped train. He was sore from a night in the sleeping car, it was lumpy and cold in the bunks.

The scruffy, chubby man behind the steering wheel was trying to make small talk, which, no offense, Blaine was just not interested in engaging in. He had a book with him, and that would be enough to keep him occupied, but the dirt road was merciless. Anderson was used to riding smoothly over paved roads, sometimes just leisurely along the river bank. Life in Charleston certainly had its perks, but even little summer drives through the pleasant outskirt scenery. Yeah, he didn't live in Charleston, per say, but close enough to be a resident. Blaine was actually surprised by how uncomfortable he was feeling in the middle of nowhere, seeing as he had come from nowhere himself.

The book jumped in Blaine's hand as they hit another bump, probably a stone. It thumped out of his fingers and tumbled to the floor with a soft thud. Page ninety-seven became page one hundred twenty-nine. Blaine picked it back up, and have forgotten the number, dropped it onto the suitcase next to him.

"You got a sweetheart back home?" the driver asked gruffly. He sounded like his intentions were harmless, but he lacked people skills. Not good for a driver. Blaine didn't appreciate his taking the opportunity to talk as soon as he dropped the book, but ignored him rather than reprimand him. He wasn't exactly in the right position to be telling this man what to do.

He sighed deeply, breath fogging the window as he leaned his head against it. "No, no, no sweetheart... Women are a foreign species to someone like me." Why the hell would he say that?

"Ah, I see," the man smiled, pseudo-knowingly. He didn't really know Blaine, but he could always guess. "Girls not your thing? Don't worry, we get plenty of that around here. No churches, really: dampened morals, everything. Men 'round here, they do what they want, and the girls -or guys- just take it. You go down to the Sun Spot once we get to Nelson: you'll see what I mean. Guys there are animals. Beautiful dames, though, and the boy. That boy, boy, he's the main attraction. Angelface, they call him. They do. Gorgeous kid, Hollywood damsel-in-distress kinda pretty."

Blaine was only half listening when he heard 'Hollywood.' "I was on my way out there when the train stopped. What were you saying about it?" He was only half-interested.

"You got corn in your ears, kid? I was sayin' how that gorgeous boy at the Sun Spot is the biggest attraction of the whole damn town. Androgynous -is that the word?- yeah- Androgynous enough to be swooned over by guys who love their bit of ankle, too. Y'know, they like the ladies, but this boy ain't bad, not at all. No breats or nothing, obviously, but fine tail."

Blaine could only understand about half of what the man was talking about. Western dialect was so much different from southern, and even Blaine spoke more northeastern, at best. This terminology was all very new and strange to him, and though he didn't particularly dislike it, he sure as hell couldn't decipher it. "So... this 'Sun Spot,' it has a man who looks enough like a girl to, er, turn the men? Is that it or..."

"Not even a man, Jack, a boy. Sixteen or seventeen -looks more like twelve, though. Snowy flesh and narrow limbs, and the best ass you'll ever see. And I'm not even an ass man: that's just how good it is. First time I went, I tell ya, no idea it was a boy at all. Y'see, the kid's old man -he owns the joint. And the guy's wife, she was a real nice lady. She's gone now, she ran out on the husband and kid still in diapers. But real nice lady, still. And what a voice. She was a performer at the Sun Spot before it got all dirty, back when nobody hardly never came around cuz nobody in town wanted that kinda stuff. Well, after the wife's gone, Hummel buys the joint for next to nothing, and turned it into a real showhouse. You ever been to a cathall?"

Blaine blinked tiredly. He didn't wanna hear any more about this, he just wanted to get to his room and sleep until the train started again. "A cathall?" he patronized. "No, I can't say I have."

"Yeah, that's only what peoples here in Nelson call it, a cathall. Er, I think over on the coast people call it a burlesque house. Where oversexed guys pay to watch the scanty girls dance in their underwears and stuff. Well, the guys here, they're all real boozhounds, all of 'em. And when they're drunk, they can't tell hand from foot, so the Hummel guy got an idea. He had a pretty little boy, doll him up in half a dress and glitter and five-inch heels, he'd pass for a chick to those bottle fiends. And so, guess what he did?" A pause that Blaine left in silence. "He did just that, that's what he did. And the kid's the main event!"

Blaine nodded slowly, absently. He'd zoned out by now. He rested his head on the window glass, staring out at the rows and rows of corn. He wondered what the hotel would be like. He could really use a hot meal. And a bath. The train didn't have baths or anything. They had toilets, but Blaine didn't wanna know where the sewage went. Hopefully the beds were nice. Nicer than the ones on the train.

"Not like the joint don't cater to those seeking sexy woman tail. There is two dames who sing, too. This skinny redhead, Lucy Quinn, and, um.. a brunette Jew girl, Rachel -or Ronnie, or something. Her nose is too big, but she can sing, and she's got nice legs. Lucy's real pretty -like, Hollywood starlet pretty- but she can't do nothing on stage to save her life. Heard she run off to California to make it big. So she's out. Rachel's 'look but no touch,' not that e'ryone want to, anyhow. Angelface, he come down from the stage and that perky little ass is just perfect for touching. Boy, if he weren't a boy... sure lotsa the hounds woulda had their way with him by now. Don't look like he got much fight in him. Them waitresses and even the bartenders always got his back, though. Them girls will even spill the whiskey on ya if you so much as look at the kid the wrong way! I mean, why does he even come down off that stage if he don't want the attention and maybe a little feel?"

Blaine shrugged, half asleep. He wasn't even tired. Maybe if he pretended to be he could finally get the silence he craved. The man's voice was grating on his last nerve, especially when he had to shout over the popping engine.

"Y'know, you look like you got something ailin' ya. The hotel knows yer comin', they can wait up for ya. I'm gonna drop you off at the Sun Spot instead. Get yerself a drink and enjoy the show. You'll see what I mean."

Blaine Anderson was too asleep to argue.


	5. Certainties

There was no doubt that Kurt was eye candy to the entire town, it just still came as a shock sometimes. Not that Kurt wasn't gorgeous, but still, he was a boy. There hadn't actually been any legitimate mistaking the adolescent for a girl since he was about eleven. His voice was still high, and his face was still pretty, but there were still the little details that let you know he really was a boy. But, under all the lace and glitter, the men around there didn't give a damn. It was almost funny, in a lewd kind of way: just about all the men in town claim they really are heterosexual, but damn near every night they're here all oversexed over a boy.

Sam wiped down a few mugs, cleaning them at least halfway decent for the boozehounds that should be crowding in in an hour or so. He didn't exactly care if they were drinking the backwash of one of their fellow dogs.

He wondered if Lucy really cared if they noticed her absense. He also wondered if anyone actually did. Nobody really missed her, that was certain. She'd been a little obnoxious -okay, really obnoxious, especially of late. She was probably getting fed up once and for all. She was the kind of girl that craved attention -that was why she'd started working here in the first place. She'd just not expected not being the center of the show. Sam cringed at the thought, but he really did believe that Lucy was jealous of Kurt. That wasn't fair, it's not like the kid had asked for this. Given the chance, Sam knew Kurt would stop performing here altogether. Maybe even run away. Probably to Hollywood, like Lucy, or New York. And he deserved to. Kurt was an amazing singer, but not many people realized that while they were staring at his ass in what was equivalent to lace panties. Or about equivalent.

Business was usually slow at this hour. The hounds prefered to get drunk during the show rather than before. Another thing about all the men in Nelson -besides them all clearly being strictly hetero- they were all drinkers. Sam had learned it's more polite to call them drinkers than drunks. Not that he cared about hurting their feelings or some bullshit like that, but he'd rather not start anything should something slip out. They were always all conveniently sober enough to know when you're talking about them and stinking drunk enough to wanna start a fight with anything that moves. Sam hated every last one of them.

Sam Evans was probably the only real straight man in Nelson. He felt no attraction to men, no matter how pretty they were. Not like Kurt was even a man, he was a boy, a child, for Chrissake. And that's why Sam was always so protective of him, because he knew what the men would do given the chance, and for all this town lacked in morality, the things they would do would make even the worst's stomach turn.

The door open, the little bell on top chiming. Sam hated that little bell, too. It made the place seem like a little store rather than a burlesque house. He looked up. This pretty short guy with dark curly hair and dressed in a tan suit came in, head down as if he was looking for something on the floor in front of him. This guy was definitely not from Nelson, that was certain. News had spread through the small town about a train that had broken down a few miles out. He was probably one of the dissatisfied passengers.

"Hey, buddy!" Sam called out, eyes narrow and wiping a glass a little more thoroughly than before. He waited for the man to at least turn his head a little. "Come over here, you look like you could use a shot of whiskey.."

Blaine stumbled over to the counter. He knew he probably looked like he was already drunk, the way he was stumbling around, weary. Head still tilted slightly to the floor, as if it weren't disgusting, though it looked like the staff tried to keep it nice. He sat on a stool that was a little difficult to get onto, it being a little higher than his thigh. He leaned heavily on the cheap marble counter as the blonde bartender retrieved a whiskey bottle and poured him a shotglass full. "Drink up," he encouraged, though not too enthusiastic.

"So..." Blaine started, downing his drink. "This is the Sun Spot I've heard so much about?" He didn't mean to sound so crass, his voice was just rough with the burn of alcohol. Blaine wasn't much of a drinker, and whiskey was a pretty strong liquor, he knew as much. He coughed a little, but that only exacerbated the burning rawness in his throat. The yellow-haired man ignored it.

"Yeah, that it is," Sam answered simply before deciding to actually continue to the conversation. "You're a little early for the real show, y'know. Even Rachel doesn't come on until six. But I guess this is a good night for you to come into town, huh. We lost a girl last night -she's chasing the Hollwood spotlight as we speak, probably. Ku- Angelface is starting an extra performance tonight." Sam almost remembered too late not to call Kurt by his real name to the patrons.

That caught Blaine's attention. So, the kook in the car wasn't making it all up. There really was a burlesque house called the Sun Spot and even more so, there really was an Angelface Hummel. "Angelface, huh? What's she like? She any good?" For all he knew, though, this Angelface was really a girl.

Sam's eyes narrowed again, but not very hostily. "You really must be new, huh? Angelface is a boy, a kid. The boozehounds 'round here love him cuz he's pretty like a girl, and he's young. And he has this very pale skin that no one's got around here. Not in Nelson, anyway. Not even the ladies. Nelson's fulla dirty-faced men and almost as dirty women. Angelface, though, his old man keeps him lookin' fresh all the time. Makes the customers happy, makes him money." He was probably talking too much. "Anyway, he'll be on around seven if you really wanna take a look for yourself. Don't try nothin' funny, though. He's just a kid."

Blaine nodded and ordered another shot.


End file.
